When Art Heals

Photo by   Nathan Fertig   on   Unsplash I was twelve years old when I left my childhood home for the first time. I was starting an adventure at a new boarding school, in the mountains of North Carolina. My "home" would be amongst friends and faculty there for the next three years. While I missed my childhood home, I knew that one day, I'd return to it.  I left home, once more, when I was fifteen. This time, to a boarding school tucked away into a mountainside in Pennsylvania. Again, I missed my childhood home, but I knew it was a place I'd always return to. When the holidays came, I went home. When summertime came, I went home. That little house in the center of the cul de sac was a staple in my life. No matter how cluttered it got, or how unkempt the yard was going to be, that little place is where I grew up.  The brown brick home, surrounded by tall trees, and a rolling green grass yard, was the place where I took my first steps, said my first words, and made...

Photo by   Katrina Wright   on   Unsplash Grief can mean something different for each person. What one person may grieve about, another person may not.  As noted by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross (Kübler-Ross E & Kessler D, 2014) the five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. This does not mean that the grieving must go in this order. Just like how everyone grieves about different things, the grief process can look different for one person versus another.  So, why am I talking to you about grief? Since I started my undergrad program, I knew that I wanted to help people. At first, I thought I wanted to become an elementary school teacher, but my path went in a different way when I decided that teaching was not for me. Little did I know, at the time, that I was in a grieving process of my own from having to extend time at school.  After changing majors, I continued on in the field of Human Development and Family Studies. I did ...

Photo by   Jachan DeVol   on   Unsplash GUEST WRITER SPOTLIGHT.  The psychiatric nurse handed me my patient garb, lead me through the laundry policies, and was showing me to the bathroom where I was going to shower. I got into the bathroom where I nervously finicked with the door for a few minutes to make sure it was locked. It made me nervous. The whole room was covered in blue tiles and looked very lived in.  I stripped down and got into the shower, reflecting on how the day started, and how I ended up here, inside the walls of a mental institution.  The day started off as most of my days use too, with the shrilling voices of my chaotic mind, telling me I wasn't worth loving, that the people I loved were going to abandon me, accompanied by the symphony of other confusing, negative, and irrational thoughts. I texted my sponsor telling her I was in a real crisis, and she called me. After a few minutes of me sobbing, she drove over as fast as she could so sh...

                                                                                     Photo by Suhyeon Choi on   Unsplash Clothes shopping has always been difficult for me, especially when it's time to buy pants. I'm short and even the pants that are marked as "short length" are still too long and drag on the ground, becoming frayed and torn with every wear, eventually to become so damaged they're unwearable. When I find a pair I like, it's the only kind I buy as long as it's available. This doesn't allow for much variety or style change but we have to wear pants :) It's hard enough to find something you like in your size and then to also have it fit the way you want. Few people are shaped like the mannequins modeling the clothes ...

Photo by   Kristina Tripkovic   on   Unsplash TRIGGER WARNING: Bullying, mild racism, and brief mention of sexual assault.  ***** I remember not fitting "in" with the "cool kids" from a very young age. I can't remember as far back as preschool, but I'm pretty sure no one really cared what I looked like or how I acted, then. Young children are the best teachers in that way - for they aren't concerned with looks nor are they set out to become the "most popular kid of all." They are far more concerned if you have the wrong sandbox toy and who to share (or not share) their chocolate chip cookie with. But elementary school was a completely different story.  I was adopted from South America when I was a baby, into a well-to-do white family. This meant that I lived in a nice neighborhood, with plenty of other children, and grew up in a very white-dominated community. Which, for the most part, was fine. But started to pose an issue when I arrived on t...

Our Purpose:  Over the course of our lifetimes, whenever we have shared our life's story with someone, the response has generally been the same - "You could write a book!" "You could use your story to help people!" "Wow, you've been through a lot - you should write about it!" etc., which eventually prompted us to team up together to write what you're reading now. We both are finally at a place where we can talk about our trauma, our stories, and how we've overcome all of life's curveballs thus far. Though we've not forgotten the things that happened to us and our experiences have previously been shared in private settings, we think discussing them on a more public platform could have a greater impact. We don't have identical stories, and they won't be the same as yours. But our hope is that sharing them will encourage others to speak up because your voices and your stories matter too. There will be some topics that are...